Let the Morning Come
by CarnagexElite
Summary: The cascade of dark energy that signalled the death of the Reapers has stranded Shepard on an unknown planet, and the mystery of it's pre-industrial Human civilisation. Though her enemy is dead, darkness always survives, and this time evil lives a little closer to home; Winter is Coming. Let the Morning Come.
1. Chapter 1

**Let The Morning Come**

A Mass Effect / Game of Thrones crossover, and I do mean GoT since I haven't read the books. Don't own rights to either.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The End**

The cold was what woke her. Harsh and biting, inciting memories of Noveria, Alchera, of the crushing emptiness of outer space.

The wind was what got her moving, recalling the sandstorm of Mars, the lightning storm of Hagalaz, the high rises of Illium.

The cave was what saved her, as she tried not to think about where she was, where her team was, where Garrus-

The dark was what took her, as the beaten, injured body of Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard lay still.

Beaten she may be, but never broken; ' _Let the morning come.'_

* * *

An almond shaped green eye snapped open, wide, unseeing, before true consciousness reasserted itself in a swift manner common among the paranoid and the well-practiced.

Said eye narrowed at the sound of voices. They echoed off the cave confusingly, but N7 meant better than the best. There were three of them, all men, speaking English but oddly, almost archaic; ' _a low-tech colony then.'_

The cave was not deep, but she had enough time to scoot into the shadows quietly; she may have trained as a vanguard, but an N7 operative could fulfil any battlefield role with nigh specialist level skill.

Observations as the three men entered the cave; ' _two inebriated, one slightly tipsy. Short, dirty, low quality non-synthetic clothing, rotting teeth, black fingernails, leather wrapped feet; very low-tech colony.'_

A sack was dumped on the floor, ' _food, metal, valuables, assortment of items rattling inside, likely stolen. Thieves, then. Swords at the hip, low quality metal, easily breakable.'_ She hadn't seen a real sword in a long time.

Where the fuck was she?

"'ere Jer.' Wot yoo reck'n dis 'ere mark be?" One said, pointing at her scuffs and imprints on the plant matter covering the cave floor. She had laid her head on that stuff. ' _Yuck. First luxury priority; wash hair.'_

"Lookee li' we go' a stow away! Look abou'!" The soberer one shouted. She would be discovered quickly, best to maintain any advantage, surprise was still on her side.

Shepard sprang forward quickly, faster than most humans could possibly match, thanks to her gene mods, synthetic implants and biotics. A potent mix.

The first speaker was closest. He tried to react, draw his sword, eyes indicating rapid sobering, but it's not enough, within a second she has him disarmed and in a hold, mono-molecular silicone blade snapping into existence from her omni-tool to his neck.

A single drop of blood drawn, and the cave froze.

The silence was broken by the soberer one's voice. "Wha' da fuck is goin' on?!" Their eyes were wide, fixed on her blade surprisingly, almost as if they've never seen an omni-tool before.

"I ask the questions. Drop your weapons. _Now."_ Shepard commanded, feeling the roughness in her throat indicative of dehydration and damage. Her voice was scratchy and tired.

The looks changed at the sound of her voice; they must not have realised she was a woman.

"Lookee lads, a lady 'as come! Gu' 'im then, we's gonna 'ave yoos eeva way," said the apparent leader.

' _So they're those kind of men, are they? Then I won't feel too bad about this,'_ Shepard thought to herself. "Okay then." Looks of surprise.

A short sharp motion was all it took to end her hostage's life. Arterial spray hit the other two in the eyes, as planned. Instinct said to charge at the other drunk one and turn him into a smear on the cave wall, but she was too low on energy.

Three quick steps forward. He waved his sword around blindly, trying to get the blood out of his eyes. It was contemptibly easy to side step the weapon that likely wouldn't even puncture her armour and stab him in the heart.

The sober one could see again. "S-s-stay back! I's wornin' ya!" He shouted, holding the sword out. He had a slightly better stance than the other two, but was obviously not practiced at much more than intimidation.

A wild swing came in at her head, she sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, disarmed him, and had him in a hold in one fluid motion. A strong ammonia smell emanated from the man. "Are you going to answer my questions now?"

* * *

Shepard stepped out of the cave slightly dazed, impossible information swimming in her head and yet making a terrifying amount of sense. The sheer amount of dark energy that had been released when she destroyed the Reapers could quite conceivably have flung her anywhere; that she had survived was almost beyond luck.

Westeros. Essos. Humans on an unknown planet, with a pre-spaceflight, hell, with a pre- _electricity_ civilisation. It seemed impossible. It _should_ have been impossible. The likelihood of a human civilisation forgoing even electricity was so low as to be unthinkable.

That this planet would be unknown more unlikely still. The only explanation would have been time travel, if the thief's jumbled explanations of the world matched anything resembling an ancient Earth civilisation.

It was a chilling thought that perhaps this was still time travel, only in the _other_ direction.

Still, she was N7. She shook off the feeling of hopelessness, of resign, and hefted the sack of stolen food and goods; the thieves would never bother anyone again.

She was in a region called the Westerlands, about half a mile from a tiny village of barely a hundred people called Yarhall (assuming her definition and the thief's definition of a mile matched).

Having slept and somewhat recovered, and now in the morning light, Shepard took stock of herself. Her armour was barely holding together, and would require fixing; considering where she was, that might be harder to achieve than she first thought.

Luckily her weapons and omni-tool were all in fine working condition, though without any thermal clips only her M-7 Lancer would be serviceable for any length of time. Again considering where she apparently was (she still wasn't quite sure she could accept it) that still put her at a massive advantage.

Take into account her biotics and omni-tool, and she was far from helpless. That was all Shepard needed to keep going.

Maybe she was stuck on this planet, with a pre-electricity civilisation. Maybe she was dreaming from hitting her head really hard. Maybe she was actually dead (though she hadn't experienced anything similar last time she had died).

No matter the situation, she was Jane Shepard, N7, Spectre, leader of the fight against the Reapers, and she would always keep going.

Always.

She set off for Yarhall, unshakeable determination in every step.


	2. Chapter 2

Let the Morning Come

A Mass Effect / Game of Thrones crossover, and I do mean GoT since I haven't read the books. Don't own rights to either.

In response to Glrasshopper, Shepard's rank upon becoming a Spectre is Lieutenant Commander, she secedes from the official Alliance ranking system upon Spectre induction. Her rank is technically Spectre, but she retains her honorary title as Lieutenant Commander. If she had been promoted, as you said Alliance rankings are... odd, but it would either be Staff Commander or Captain as far as I can tell. People only call her commander in the games because it's less of a mouthful than Lieutenant Commander.

xxxx

Chapter 2: The Beginning

They were scared. Shepard had walked into the middle of the village, stares and fingers following her to the centre of the single 'road.' _'If a dirt track running through the middle of a bunch of wooden shacks can be considered a road.'_

She had stopped, and waited for someone to come and speak to her, but none were brave enough, apparently. She would have to make them come to her.

"Who's in charge here?!" She shouted, fighting the urge to cough as the dryness of her throat made itself apparent. The people flinched, mothers grabbing their small children and old men eyeing her warily.

' _These people fear strangers, could be cultural, could be pragmatic, either way it doesn't fucking help me,'_ Shepard thought angrily. However, all too quickly she felt the anger drain out of her; the enormity of her apparent situation crushed her petty anger. ShepaS

"Look, I'm just here to return the food and valuables that three thieves took from you," she said clearly, projecting her voice so that all around could hear her, her hand twitching to rub her throat.

Finally, someone spoke up; an ageing man, weathered by a hard life. "You expect us to believe a woman capable of killing three men?" Righteous fury flooded her bones, artificial though they might be.

Her omni-blade sprang forth, glowing in the dull grey light of the morning. She dropped the sack, and began stalking towards the old man, gasps and whispers of 'magic' emanating from the crowd.

She stood head and shoulders taller than him; she came from a humanity that had advanced genetic engineering, centuries of evolution based on a surplus of food and fantastic medicine.

In comparison, this man had probably been half-starved for his entire life, worked to the bone just to survive, and had no access to medicine or health care of any kind; she was taller, stronger, healthier, and it showed.

"I do. I can prove it, if you like?" The man looked up into her jade eyes, and shook his head. "Good. I need a bed and a hot meal. Who is in charge of the village?" Her omni-blade dissolved with a simple motion.

"I-I am," the man who had insulted her said. "My name is Terg, I'm the Elder of the village milady," he said with more strength. He spoke somewhat better than she had expected. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard of the Normandy SR-2, N7, Council Spectre," Shepard replied automatically, "but," she continued, thinking of her situation, "none of that really matters now. You can just call me Shepard."

" _Shepard," Garrus greeted, lying on his back on her bed._

" _Why don't you ever use my first name Garrus?" She asked as she undressed, feeling sparks dance across her skin as Garrus' eyes followed every movement._

" _It's too plain for you, 'Jane,' there's a thousand and one humans called Jane, but you, you're something else; Shepard is who you are, more than Jane could ever be," Garrus explained, getting off the bed and walking over to her, shedding his own clothes as he did so._

" _It could be Vakarian, hopefully, someday. Jane Vakarian. What do you reckon?" His throaty chuckle answered her._

" _I think we should hyphenate; I just can't see you being a full Vakarian."_

" _I can." They stumbled into the shower together and-_

Shepard clamped down on her emotions violently. Now was not the time to dwell on what she might have lost; on who she might have lost.

"Those are mighty odd names and titles, milady," Terg said with an unsubtle questioning lilt; Shepard didn't respond, seeing as how the old man was prying. "Still, you've done us a service. A bed and a meal is fair payment methinks."

Shepard thought about her goals and priorities, and knew that staying in this tiny village for too long was not something she could entertain. "I will also need supplies for travel, we can figure out how to pay for that later since I have no money, as well as directions to the capital of the Westerlands."

Despite paying for the best possible equipment in the galaxy, Shepard had still had several million credits in her account during the final assault; all worthless in a place that certainly still used physical money, if they even had currency and weren't still at the trading goods stage of progress.

xxxx

Shepard stood in a bare room, nothing but sticks holding up a roof of straw, a hay stuffed mattress and pillow with a tatty sheet covering them the only decoration. She had slept in worse. _'Like Akuze,'_ she thought with a shudder, and pushed the memory away.

The process of removing her scarred, burnt and ruptured armour was a lengthy process; some pieces were covered in dried blood, and some of the under-armour weave had to be torn off her skin.

She didn't make a noise; burns, cuts, bits stuck to her, the pain seemed so far away, back in that forsaken room with a deluded, murderous AI. Back with her team, whose fates were as much a mystery to her as her current location.

No tears fell as the ache of not knowing warped her breath; crying never helped anyone, she had learned that a long, long time ago. Back on Mindoir.

Her current abode was slightly chilly, the result of no insulation or appropriate materials in the construction of the hut she found herself in, and prompted Shepard to settle in bed quickly. _'Still more comfortable than those damn sleeper pods,'_ Shepard mused.

' _What next I wonder?'_

xxxx

Morning came bleak, mist rolling across the village, and Shepard shot awake, one hand going to her pistol, the other setting in a guard position with her omni-blade snapping into existence with a short hiss.

The girl whose presence had woken her screamed and ran out of the hut, dropping the bowl of water she had been carrying. Sheppard felt a slight flush as she realised what she must have looked like, bouncing to her feet in only her underwear and preparing to gut whoever had woken her, cuts, bruises, blood and dirt covering pale skin.

The prospect of a lack of showers on this planet was something she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, so she, with as much stoic disregard for the dried fluids and rips and tears as she could muster, donned her under-armour weave and the pieces of her armour that could still attach to it reliably.

The greaves and vambraces were barely salvageable, but the chest piece, pauldrons and thigh plates were manageable, if burned, dented and torn open in some places. She would need to get her hands on some rutile (titanium dioxide), borax (sodium borate), and some coal if she wanted to fix her armour.

Armour on, weapons reattached, and bowl picked up, Shepard made her way out of the hut into the grey morning light of Yarhall.

Seemingly the whole village was waiting for her, including the young woman she had startled, who was standing behind her mother, though said mother seemed reluctant to tolerate her daughter's fear.

Shepard looked at the sky to see that the sun was passing the midway point of its journey, beginning the descent towards what she hesitantly designated 'West.' She had slept until noon, meaning she had needed the time to recover, as she usually woke at dawn.

She approached Terg, situated as he was at the front of the congregation that was apparently waiting for her to wake. She couldn't help quirking her lips at the thought that she must seem distinctly alien to these people.

"How did you sleep, milady?" Terg asked nervously, eyes flicking nervously to her wrist, where her omni-blade had appeared the previous day.

"Well enough, thanks," Shepard replied casually.

"I, um, I've had a word with everyone, and I'm afraid Yarhall ain't got any maps. Old Casterly Rock, that be the Lord's castle, is right on the cliffs overlooking the water, 'bout a mile North of Lannisport. According to Old Jen, easiest way to get there on foot is a straight West to the water, and then South following the coast; biggest buildings you ever see, can't miss it."

"How long a journey?" Shepard asked.

"About 5 days at a fair walking pace, considering there ain't no road from here."

Shepard couldn't help the discontented frown from marring her face. The average Human walked about 3 miles per hour, but without a path one could assume half of that, so assuming 8 hours of walking a day, making that about 12 miles, in 5 days that makes around 60 miles.

A modern car could do that journey in half an hour, or less, with no traffic; considering the prospects of these people having mastered flight, she could probably do it in about 5 minutes. _'... I miss the Normandy already.'_

Terg, seeing the discontented frown on the face of the beautiful, and frankly terrifying woman, spoke up. "Pardon milady, but if you were willing to travel North a little first, then you might get a horse in Ashemark, might cut a day off the journey," he said hesitantly.

Shepard's eyes lit up, memories of her mum's horse on Mindoir coming to mind, a palomino stallion. "Yeah, that could work. How do I get there?"

"Half a day's walk straight North and then turn right when you hit the road, should get there by evening," he said dutifully.

Shepard nodded. _'That's my next destination then... maybe after another day or two of taking it easy,'_ she thought as she catalogued the myriad cuts, scrapes, bruises, burns, aches, and possibly still a fractured rib or two. Broken bones still took her cybernetics a few days to heal.

' _That and some food wouldn't go amiss.'_

"I need to stay here for a couple more days, how can I pay you for putting me up?" Shepard asked in a no nonsense tone that had earned her the respect of her fellow marines throughout her career.

Terg answered hesitantly. "The women can always use a hand weaving baskets or sewing clothes?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I know how to weave or sew?" A shake of the head. Shepard thought about what she could do that might benefit the people, when she saw that the village had a few poorly kept farms around.

"Tell me Terg, how often do you get meat in the village?" Shepard asked with a calculating gleam in her eye.

"Not often milady, usually we get some every other trade month, Yarhall ain't got much in the way of hunters; that and none but Lord Marbrand's allowed to hunt the best places," Terg informed her, scowling as he said so.

Shepard too felt her opinion of the world she had landed on fall, since the feudal system had been toppled centuries ago, and with good reason, on Earth. Even the Asari, with their government centred on the influence of individual Matriarchs, decried the ridiculous lack of sense in the feudal system.

"If someone can show me where the closest areas you're allowed to hunt are, I'll bring you an animal or two in repayment for your hospitality," Shepard stated confidently. She was the best of the best at hunting sentient beings, an animal or two was not beyond her capabilities.

Terg's eyes flicked to her wrist again. "O' course milady; Senna can show you to the forest," the old man said, indicating the young woman that she had scared earlier.

Her confusion must have showed on her face, as she had thought this a male dominated society from the previous day's experiences.

"Her brother and father were our only hunters; she used to go with 'em to collect herbs. Her father was taken by the cold last winter and her brother's gone to make his fortune in King's Landing," Terg explained.

His frown and some slight grumbling from the people around them at the mention of the brother told Shepard all she needed to know about what was thought of that decision.

She turned to the timid young woman, estimating her to be about fifteen or sixteen. She was short, and thin, as all of these people were, but what flesh she did have was corded muscle, most likely from working the fields since the men died or left.

"Let's go," Shepard said simply, waiting for Senna to lead the way.

"N-now?" she stammered, wringing her hands together.

"O' course now, stupid girl," the mother said with a hard cuff round the back of Senna's head. She stumbled from the blow, and Shepard saw a quick but venomous glare directed at the mother as she rubbed the now sore spot.

' _Perhaps she has some spine after all,'_ Shepard thought to herself. Dirty blonde hair, somewhat heavy-lidded eyes, a delicate jaw line, a bit of a ski slope nose. Senna wasn't a great beauty, but by the standards of a medieval little village like this she was a diamond in the rough.

If Shepard had learned anything in her years of service, and her fight against the Reapers, it was that you needed friends, loyal ones. Perhaps this Senna would be her first ally on whatever planet she was trapped on, with a bit of work of course.

She could hardly be any more work than Zaeed in terms of attitude. Or Grunt.


End file.
